The Fallen Woman (A Regency Romance) (30 page)

“If you feel bad, you should get better!”

“I’ll… try,” Tristan said. He chuckled again, which made him cough, and the cough made him wince in pain. “Where’s Andrew?”

“He went to see the magistrate. He seems to want revenge on Wintergreen, and I can hardly blame him. If I wasn’t so worried about you, I’d want my own revenge,’ said Leona. “Well…
worried
doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now. I’m terrified, Tristan. I’m terrified of losing you.”

He gave her hair another stoke, though it pained him to move at all. “When Andrew gets back… I have a request.”

“Request? What is it? I’ll do anything!”

Tristan closed his eyes, but only for a second. He was fully aware of everything around him, even though he was feverish. He knew if he kept his eyes closed too long, he would make everyone worry, so he forced them open again. “I want to go back to Randall Hall.”

Leona was momentarily silenced by his request. Had he already resigned himself to death? Was he referring to Randall Hall as the desired place of his burial? Her heart quaked at the thought. “When?”

“Tonight. Now.”

“But, Tristan! You can’t seriously think of traveling in the state you’re in! I’m sure the doctor would strongly advise against it!”

“I don’t care what the doctor says.” Tristan attempted to sit up, his face twisted in pain. “I want to take you home with me.”

“Randall Hall is a long way from here… I’m… I just don’t…”

“You don’t think I’ll survive the ride,” Tristan finished for her. “I’m not delirious, if that’s what you think.”

“I wasn’t going to say that, and that’s not what I think! Please don’t speak of death so casually! It breaks my heart!”

Tristan was silent for several seconds. Each breath he took was an obvious struggle. “As soon as Andrew gets back…” he began, “I want to leave.”

Leona looked back at Bess for support, but the older woman just shook her head in bewilderment. She wanted Bess to offer some words of wisdom—to talk Tristan out of his madness.

“I’ll speak with the doctor. I’ll ask him about Tristan’s request,” said Bess, staring solemnly at her nephew for several seconds. “Tristan, I really wish you’d reconsider. Your recovery will be hard enough as it is. Traveling won’t help matters.”

“According to the doctor, there won’t
be
a recovery,” Tristan said, sounding quite lucid despite his pain and fever. “If I’m going to pass away, I want to do it at the place I’m most familiar with.” He reached over to take Leona’s hand; his own hand trembled as it encompassed her fingers. “I want to go back to the place where I fell in love with you. As soon as Andrew gets back, we’re leaving.”

Leona sighed. “And I suppose I have no say in the matter?”

“Only if you’d refuse the request of a dying man,” he said, forcing his lips to turn upward.

But his smile did little to comfort her. Leona rose to her feet and lowered her head. “Then I… need to pack my things.”

When Leona left the sitting room, a fresh wave of tears flowed from her eyes. Mary tried to offer a few words of sympathy as they traveled down the hall, but Leona didn’t care to listen. No whispered condolences or misplaced optimism could ease her sadness. Leona’s sorrow made her so weak, Mary had to wrap Leona’s arm around her shoulders and carry half her weight. She was practically dragging her along.

When Leona returned to her bedchamber, she collapsed into Mary’s arms and sobbed on her shoulder. She had many reasons to cry, but nothing compared to this. She would never be happy again. Not without Tristan.

“Sit down, miss,” Mary suggested. “Just lie down on the bed, and I’ll gather your things.”

“No.” Leona dabbed her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. “I’ll help you. I’ll help. I need to get my mind off of this.” With trembling hands, she plucked some of her undergarments off the floor and transferred them to her valise. “What am I going to do, Mary?”

“I don’t know.” Mary carefully folded one of Leona’s gowns, which was more difficult than usual—her hands were trembling too. “I’m so sorry, Leona.”

Mary’s dispensed formalities made Leona’s lips twitch into a momentary half-smile. Even if Mary was her servant, she considered her a friend. Right now, Leona needed a friend, not a maid.

They gathered Leona’s belongings as quickly as they could. For once, even Molly was acting kind. She met them outside Leona’s room and insisted on carrying her baggage to the carriage.

A few minutes later, Andrew helped Tristan into the carriage. Andrew’s gaze met Leona’s, and he saw the doubt in her eyes. With a shake of his head, he said, “I know you think this is crazy, my lady, and I’m inclined to agree with you. But I know better than to deny the man what he wants.”

“Ah… you’re a good man, Andrew Lamb,” Tristan croaked, struggling to sit upright in the seat. “Despite all your obvious flaws, you’re still a good man.”

“Look at you! You’re as pale as death, and you’re still harassing me!”

“And I plan to harass you until I take my last breath!” Tristan threatened his friend.

Leona’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t believe, in spite of everything, her husband’s sense of humor was still intact. Somehow, Tristan and Andrew were bantering as if everything was normal—as if one of them wasn’t on his deathbed.

“If you think Tristan looks bad, you should see that Wintergreen fellow!” Andrew said with a chuckle. “Actually… unfortunately… I’m sure he looks as pretty as ever. I wish I could say I landed a few punches on him, as it would have given me great pleasure, but the truth isn’t as dramatic as that. However, I'm sure he's enjoying the gaol right about now.”

When the carriage started to move, Tristan noticeably winced. Even the tiniest movement pained him. Noticing his pain, Leona reached over and took his hand. She held it on her lap and stroked it, and even used his hand to wipe away her tears. She just wanted this nightmare to be over. She would have given anything if she could’ve just closed her eyes and woken up in yesterday.

“Andrew,” Tristan weakly uttered his friend’s name.

Andrew leaned forward in his seat, waiting for Tristan to continue.

“I need you… to do something for me.”

Tristan’s eyelids started to flutter, so Andrew cautioned him, “No… don’t close your eyes! You remember what the doctor said? Losing consciousness would be a
very
bad thing!”

Tristan forced his eyes open wider. If Death was determined to descend on him, he was determined to fight it as long as he could. “Listen to me, Andrew,” he continued. “I need you to look after Leona for me.”

Andrew gave a firm nod. “Of course. You don’t even need to ask.”

Leona let go of Tristan’s hand and buried her face in her palms, sobbing. He made it sound as if he’d resigned himself to dying. She couldn’t stand it.

“And… Andrew,” said Tristan. “Will you lean closer to me?”

Andrew somehow managed to rise to his feet in the moving carriage. Holding onto the hangstrap, he leaned over to his friend.

Tristan tilted his head toward Andrew’s ear and whispered, “She’s with child. Please take care of her.”

Andrew’s eyes were wide with shock for a few seconds, but he tried to wipe the surprise from his face when he returned to his seat. “Of course,” he said again.

Tristan’s eyes flitted to each face in the carriage. He looked at Mary and Andrew, and was comforted to know Leona would be in good hands if he died. He looked over at Leona, who continued to sob for him. He was as consumed by her sorrow as he was by her love for him. “Finally,” Tristan whispered, “I feel lucky.”

Everyone turned to him with wide eyes, waiting for him to explain himself. At the moment, he looked anything
but
lucky.

“I’ve been blessed with a great friend and a wonderful wife.” Tristan looked down at his blood-soaked shoulder, which wasn’t bleeding anymore, but was causing him as much pain as ever. With a slight smile, he said, “And it doesn’t look so bad, actually.”

Those were the last words he spoke before he closed his eyes.

* * *

He lost consciousness three times on the way to Randall Hall. Every time he closed his eyes, his companions collectively held their breath.

But Tristan’s will to live was incredibly strong. By the time the carriage stopped in front of Randall Hall, his fever was higher than ever; his face was clammy and dripping with perspiration.

Tristan tried to pretend he was on the mend. He descended from the carriage on his own, and he walked to his bedchamber on his own. He hated to have anyone worrying about him. If it wasn’t bad enough to have Leona and Andrew fussing over him, Dubois and Nell started trailing after him as soon as he stepped in the door. Everyone followed him to his room and watched him fall into his bed with an enormous sigh.

“I should prepare a cool bath!” Nell suggested. “We need to do something to lower your fever!”

“Do you need anything, my lord?” Dubois asked, wiping a tear from the tip of his beak-like nose. “If you do, I will geet it for vous.”

“Do you want me to remove your shoes, m’lord?” John asked, having just arrived on the scene. Concern for his master etched a deep crease in the middle of the valet’s sharp forehead.

“Everyone, please… don’t worry about me,” Tristan grumbled. “Everyone seems to think I’m on the verge of dying, which probably isn’t far from the truth, but… for the moment, I feel perfectly fine. Although, that bath might be a good idea.”

Nell was out of the room in a flash.

Andrew, sensing his friend’s waning patience, went over and gave Tristan’s hand a squeeze. “I bet you’d like a moment with your wife, wouldn’t you?”

When he nodded, Tristan’s head throbbed. He was touched by his staff’s concern for him, but he hated to be the center of attention.

“The man wants some time with his lady love, and who could blame him? We should clear out of here.” Andrew walked over to the door and opened it, ushering everyone out. Leona was the only visitor who stayed.

As she sat down beside him, Leona shook her head. “I know you’re not
perfectly fine
. I’m sure you’re in a great deal of pain. I wish you would tell us the truth.”

“Ah… it could be worse. What would be more painful than anything is never getting to see your beautiful face again.” He reached up to smooth away the worry line between her eyes.

Leona captured his hand and kissed it. “You’re not going to die, Tristan. You can’t die! You have to promise me you’ll fight this…”

“Of course I will.”

“We’ve hardly had any time together,” she whimpered. “That’s all I want. I just want more time.”

Leona bent down and covered his face with kisses. She kissed his eyes, his nose, his lips—she was trying to get all the kisses she could, to stock up for however many years she might not have him in her life. As he stroked her hair, he kept wishing he could take away her sadness. He didn’t care about himself. Tristan wanted to live for
her.

“I’m so sorry, Leona.”

“Stop apologizing…” She lay beside him and rested her head on his chest, hoping some of her own strength would flow into him.

“I can’t even apologize for getting blood in your hair?” He tried to chuckle, but his laugh turned into a cough.

“But you’re not bleeding anymore!” Leona exclaimed. “Thank Heavens you’re not. I’d be terrified if you were.”

“You’re not terrified right now? Because I am.”

“Of course I’m terrified. I’m
beyond
terrified.” Leona closed her eyes and held her breath, trapping a fresh wave of tears behind her eyes. She knew he didn’t want to see her cry anymore. “I don’t think you realize how much you’ve changed my life, Tristan. I don’t want to live without you…”

“And believe me,” he added, “I don’t want you to live without me, either.”

Chapter Thirty Four

Andrew lay on his bed with his eyes closed, his right arm draped across his forehead. He wanted to give Leona a moment alone with Tristan, but the truth was, he wanted his moment with Tristan, too. He was on the verge of losing someone he’d known all his life. Tristan was his best friend; he was like a brother to Andrew. He was the only person in the world who knew him inside and out. Tristan was the only person in the world who knew all his flaws, but cared for him regardless.

Andrew wondered how many people would be surprised to see him crying. Now that he was alone in his room, he’d wiped away at least forty tears. He was used to keeping up a brave front in the presence of others. In all his life, he couldn’t remember a time when he was ever caught crying. It was much easier for him to joke about things that troubled him, rather than show any kind of weakness.

What were the odds of Tristan’s survival, he wondered. The wound itself didn’t look too terrible, although the shot probably hit close enough to graze his heart—a heart which wasn’t in the best condition. All the doctors said the same thing: Tristan had a bad heart. With the wound, the fever, the loss of blood and a poor heart, death seemed a frightening certainty. Andrew wanted to cry for his friend, even more than he wanted to cry for himself. He knew he would be lonely without his friend, but Tristan’s tragedy was far worse. As soon as Tristan found his reason to live, his life would be ripped away from him. It was heart-wrenchingly tragic.